Following my unfortunate and unexpected loss at the Siku Zijazo Sacco board elections—and my acceptance of the will of the people—I started off the week after telling myself that I needed to focus on delivering for Mwisho wa Lami Comprehensive School. This is what puts food on my table and dresses me sharply.
It is in that spirit that I arrived at school early the very next Monday, ready to impact the brains, hearts, and minds of Mwisho wa Lami children with knowledge. It was the last days of the term, and I did not expect much to happen—just a few finishing touches here and there to close Term One, go rest, and wait for next term – when all the shenanigans about the elections will have been forgotten.
If you recall, just a few weeks earlier, my competitors—led by Kuya, a former disgraced teacher of this school—had even campaigned in my staffroom, in my presence, just to provoke me. I had remained calm, not allowing myself to be provoked. Now that they had won, I expected the matter to end there.
After all, Sacco elections were just that—Sacco elections, not matters of life and death. If you remember, the entire thing was organised by Kuya and facilitated by Lena, with funding from the Sacco Chair, using members’ savings.
When I got to school, my first confrontation was with Lena—her bad hair in tow. As the Teacher on Duty, I expected her to be in school very early, putting things in order. She was not in school when I arrived, and I took it upon myself to put things in order, like an ordinary teacher.
She arrived when students were starting the parade, and I expected her to apologise, take control, and run the affairs of the school. She did not. Instead, she sat back and let me run the school.
I then went to my office, closing the door behind me. As you know, the office is just next to the staffroom, and I could hear everything being said. Usually, teachers are careful about what they say, knowing that I could be hearing. But as time goes by, they forget about my presence and start speaking freely. And that is exactly what happened on that Monday morning.
They were first cautious, then people started talking freely. To make them forget that I was around, I did not come out for tea break. After the tea break, they assumed I was not in.
“It is the second last week,” said Erick. “There is no difference I will make now that I didn’t make all those weeks. Wacha watoto wapumzike.” “By the way, Lena,” someone said, “I heard you came in late but didn’t take matters into control. You let Soprano run the affairs of the school. Why?”
“I found Soprano already puffed up like a mandazi, busy doing what an HM shouldn’t be doing,” said Lena. “Did you expect me to stop him? I wasn’t going to. I let him continue.”
At first, I wondered who Soprano was. From the way they spoke, it appeared as though I had been baptised that name long ago.
“But you were the Teacher on Duty,” said Anita. “You should have taken over.” “And even apologised for getting to school late,” added Nzomo.
“Me? Never!” Lena said. “First of all, I was not late—he is the one who was too early, that’s not my problem. Secondly, after the Sacco elections loss, he was still angry. I didn’t want to annoy him further, so I let him do what he wanted.”
“No, that was wrong,” said Saphire, whom I hadn’t even realised was in the staffroom.
“But surely, Saphire,” said Anita, “you are also at fault. You are the one who cost him the elections. You were at Hitler’s when we needed you. You should take responsibility for Soprano’s loss—you didn’t help him.”
“These elections were won or lost before Election Day,” Saphire said unapologetically. “There is nothing we could have done on that day.”
“Let’s stop whining and move to celebrating,” Lena said. “A new Sacco board member is organising a celebratory lunch for us today. He promised to buy us lunch, and he is keeping his promise.”
This was met with loud applause from the staffroom—including Saphire, my supposed campaign manager.
“We can’t wait for lunch—I haven’t eaten anything today,” he said.
“Tuko watu 15… soda one crate, two chicken, rice, chapati, nyama choma… kuna mtu anataka matumbo? Yes, matumbo… ugali… sawa. Ongeza fruits…”
“No, last time they cooked here, Soprano made noise. We are ordering directly from Kasuku Bar and Restaurant—they will bring. All courtesy of Kuya – the new board member.”
Immediately, I called the watchman at the gate and gave strict instructions that no food should enter the school.
“If anyone brings food, tell them to take it back.”
I also heard them invite the chairman of the boda boda association. I instructed the watchman not to allow him in. They continued talking. A few minutes to lunch, I heard Lena receive a call.
“What do you mean the watchman can’t allow food into the school?” she shouted. “You guys, can you hear? The watchman has refused to let food enter the school!”
“Even the boda boda chairman was blocked,” added Stella. “This is a public school, bana—not anyone’s property!”
“Ati, who has stopped it? The HM?” Lena said into the phone.
“Can you imagine? Soprano has stopped food from being brought to us—and even blocked the boda chairman. Kwani bado ako na machungu?”
“Kwani, where is he?” asked Sella.
“He went home,” Lena said. “Someone must be feeding him with information. Is it you, Nzomo?” Nzomo denied, but Lena, Sella and Anita attacked her, telling her to stop talking about them to me. “We know he is your boyfriend, but you don’t have to tell him everything!” shouted Lena.
“Who is Nzomo’s boyfriend?” I asked loudly as I opened the HOI’s office door and entered the staffroom. “And it is class time. How is everyone here? Are you telling me no one has gone to class?”
There was panic all over the staffroom. Within seconds, all the teachers disappeared. I walked to the gate and told the person who had brought the food to take it back. I returned to my office and continued working. Teachers started streaming back after lunch, though very few others decided to operate from different locations, including their classes. No one was talking. The situation remained tense from that Monday until last week when we closed school.
I don’t know if she knows this, but Lena is now a marked woman. I will be visiting Nairobi TSC offices over the holidays… just to deal with her. Atajua hajui .
